


sweet to tongue, sound to eye

by sirsparklepants



Series: shoulder, fat, bone [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Class Differences, Developing Relationship, F/M, Food, M/M, Multi, Polyamory Negotiations, The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:14:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23429782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirsparklepants/pseuds/sirsparklepants
Summary: Yennefer, Jaskier, and food: an accidental courtship in four meals.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: shoulder, fat, bone [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1685464
Comments: 59
Kudos: 341





	sweet to tongue, sound to eye

**Author's Note:**

> For a fandom set in fantasy medieval Poland/Eastern Europe, Witcher fandom does not have enough fics where the characters eat less than savory parts of the animal. This fic is my first foray into fixing that up, although never fear, it's all training wheels offal in here. The class issues are partially because it's something I like to address and partially because food in medieval society was highly, highly class based, so I felt the need to bring it in a little. 
> 
> Title from Goblin Market by Christina Rossetti.

When she had first come to Aretuza, Yennefer had thought the food there unimaginably rich and luxurious. She might have plumped up like the piglet Tissaia had called her, but magic practice burned through the body's reserves as surely as any physical exercise. Still, in her first year, her tits and hips rounded out and her courses, which had previously been irregular and quite painful, evened. Her aching spine ached less with some fat to cushion the bend. She had been sold like a pig to market, but she was a well-fed one, at least. Occasionally she even appreciated it.

When she came to court at Aedirn, she came to understand that Aretuza's food had been plentiful and fine enough not to offend the Rectoress, but nothing truly astonishing. The king's kitchens produced wonders the likes of which Yennefer had never even dreamed existed as a child. Pies with live birds, boars sculpted into manticores, cities and castles shaped out of marzipan and the height of a tall man's waist. After thirty years of the same tricks, though, it became bland, simply fanfare before she could get to her meal and be done with the bullshit. When she left, she was almost looking forward to simpler meals again.

However, a powerful and mysterious sorceress had an image to maintain, if she wanted to keep her reputation and therefore her work. If she didn't specify, she was brought the finest dish an establishment had to offer. If she did specify, she risked a client knowing that Yennefer of Vengerburg not only enjoyed but requested a peasant dish. And her own cooking skills were… basic. The same skills used to concoct a potion were sufficient to produce a basic meal, of course, but by the time she was old enough to learn how to cook with her mother, she wasn't allowed in the house any longer. And after so long away from home, some part of her dearly missed her mother's cooking: the warmth of the stove as Yennefer clung to her skirts and watched, the smell of crisping pork skins, the warm food steaming in her mouth. The memory was one of the few clear ones she had before she'd been thrown out into the pigpens.

Which was why her eyes narrowed when she spotted Geralt's bard in the middle of the tavern she'd just walked into. She'd seen the witcher not two months ago and hadn't expected to run into him again, but that wasn't what sparked her ire. No, that was the plate in front of Jaskier, containing a pork shank in its crispy skin, fragrant with caraway and celery root, dripping juices onto sauerkraut and barley bread. It smelled just like the ones from her childhood memory. They hadn't had much, but they'd had pork and cabbage. How dare he sit there and publicly enjoy a physical reminder of her one happy memory of home? He was noble, wasn't he? She thought Geralt had said so. And yet in the middle of a busy town's busiest tavern, he ate a ham hock with every evidence of enjoyment.

Yennefer started towards him, all thoughts of her original purpose here forgotten. She didn't know what she was going to do to the bard, but it was going to be unpleasant, and it would have to be subtle. Without the protections of the Brotherhood, she could find herself run out of town easily if public opinion turned against her, and a noble, charismatic bard held public opinion in the palm of his hand.

"Jaskier," she said, butting up to his table in a swirl of skirts. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised to see you in such a… rustic establishment. I suppose you must go where your music will be well-received."

"Yennefer," Jaskier said, looking up as if surprised. "It does seem we both found court too restrictive, hmm?" He looked around the tavern as if to indicate that why, if he was here, then so was she. 

"The difference between us is that I can pursue greatness without the restriction of kings, whereas you simply prefer more freedom for your cock," she said, pulling out the chair next to him without waiting for an invitation that certainly wouldn't be coming. 

Jaskier laughed at that, surprising her. "Whatever the reasons, we both ended up in the same place," he said, "and we might as well enjoy all the pleasures it has to offer. Irina!" he called, catching the attention of the barmaid. "Bring my companion here an ale, and the same as me, hmm?" he asked, indicating his plate.

"Wouldn't the lady prefer… a dish a little more refined?" Irina asked, a trace of nervousness on her face.

Jaskier laughed, but it had little humor, more smirking glee. "Nonsense! She's here, isn't she? The house special should be experienced." When he turned back to Yennefer, the nasty little smirk still played at the edges of his mouth.

If they were both in court, that little gesture would serve to humiliate her by giving her common food to match her station, whereas Jaskier had no shame about the situation. But Geralt apparently hadn't shared all the details of her past with his bard, and so it backfired on him. Yennefer had wished for the dish regardless, and she'd take it with aplomb. "Local specialities are always worth a try," she told Irina with a touch of regal graciousness in her tone, as if she was indulging Jaskier by trying his peasant food. Jaskier scowled into his beer, but Irina brightened up, and twenty minutes later, when Geralt arrived, Yennefer was halfway through her own pig shank, eating it with every evidence of enjoyment.

* * *

The next time the two of them ran into each other, it was at a baronetess's harvest party. Jaskier was entertainment - of more than one kind, Yennefer observed, watching how the wives and unmarried sons fawned over him. Yennefer was courting a patron of enough influence to keep eyes away from her research while far enough away from court to keep the eyes of royalty off her, she hoped. They could, of course, pretend not to know each other, but where was the fun in that? 

When it seemed Jaskier was taking a break for wine - and possibly arranging a dalliance for later - Yennefer left the baronetess's side with an intimate whisper and glided over to him, sending off his admirers with a single flick of her hand. Jaskier looked up, a protest on his lips, and visibly thought better of it.

"And to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?" he asked, his lips red with wine. He'd clearly already had more than a glass or two.

"As I don't see your usual companion here to chase off trouble, I thought I'd do you a favor and head it off at the pass," she said, taking the goblet in his hand for herself. The wine that passed her lips was red and dry and full-bodied, richer and deeper than she'd thought him capable of appreciating. It annoyed her that their tastes in drink were so similar.

Jaskier laughed. "Yes, I talked him into one of these things once and I doubt I shall ever again." The twist to his lips was wry.

"He got tired of seeing the evidence of your faithlessness?" Yennefer inquired, arch. She truly did not understand the way Geralt let his bard carry on. If someone was hers, then they were hers. The only reason she let Geralt still cavort about with him was because the arrangement predated her, a fact which rubbed.

"You should know by now we don't have that kind of relationship," Jaskier said, and the wry twist was gone. He was laughing, she could see it in the corners of his eyes, but it was almost like he was inviting her to laugh with him. "He's remarkably loyal, won't go against the terms you set once you've hashed them out, and when he gives his heart, he never takes it back. He won't make it easy to hash those terms out, mind, because he's so scared of being a disappointment, and he thinks if you know his heart is yours you'll give it right back, but once you get beyond that it's smooth sailing. Relatively." He smiled at her.

Yennefer felt her heart twist. Jaskier did know Geralt after all, and at that moment she felt the similarities between the witcher and herself burn upon her skin. If Jaskier saw all that in Geralt, what did he see in her? But no, she reassured herself. That was a familiarity born of long knowledge. Jaskier couldn't know anything about her. 

She smiled back at him. "What a lovely little series of insights that is," she said. "Remarkable, that you can know even that much, without the ability to enter his mind."

Jaskier refused to rise to the bait. "That would be a gift, not having to interpret all those grunts," he said. 

Yennefer smiled despite herself. There was a signal from the high table, and if she wanted to stay close enough to her new patron to keep up the subtle magical influence she'd been exerting, she had best get back. "Well, in thanks for the gift you gave me last we spoke, I've arranged for you to have a gift as well," she said. With a hand gesture, a servant bearing a small plate from the high table emerged. "Pâté de foie gras. I know you appreciate the finer things in life, despite your long time on the road. A delicacy to make up for the travails of rough life in the countryside."

Jaskier looked honestly delighted. "Oh, wonderful," he sighed. "I haven't had that since - oh, since my last time at the Countess de Stael's side, perhaps," he said. Then he looked up, almost wickedly, and Yennefer knew the subtle insult hadn't passed him by. "Perhaps I'll compose a song about you, Yennefer of Vengerburg, and your… generosity to those around you." He flicked his eyes up at the baronetess.

Yennefer raised her eyebrows. Now that was a credible threat. She found herself impressed. "No need," she said. "I do my best work in obscurity."

Jaskier dipped his head in a nod, as close to a bow as he could manage sitting. "Then I shall leave you in obscurity for now," he said.

Yennefer nodded to him in turn and returned to the high table herself. How interesting.

* * *

When she next saw Jaskier, she was actively searching for him, for a change. It made her much more inclined to view him generously, even if she did have to go tramping through the woods in a sumptuous gown.

"Geralt," she called as she approached their campsite, and the witcher came to her, unsurprised, and pulled her into a kiss that made up for the brambles in her skirts. Only when they'd pulled away did she look over at Jaskier, who was doing… something with a pot and spices, studiously not watching. "I see you haven't lost your little tagalong," she said. "Quite convenient."

Geralt hummed low in his throat, but Jaskier looked up at her sharply. "Do you mean actually convenient, or convenient as in, I shall now make him conveniently lost in the woods?" he asked. "Because it's the latter you know as well as I do Geralt is a damn fine tracker and his sense of professional pride alone would drive him to find me, therefore depriving you of more time on that fantastic cock, so really, you'd be fucking yourself over."

Yennefer laughed. "Trust me, I've well weighed the risks and rewards of that particular solution, and found them to be lacking," she said. "No, I have a job for you, if you wish - and you as well, I suppose," she said, flicking her attention back to Geralt, who still hovered close.

"Me?" Jaskier said, surprised. 

"Yes, you," Yennefer repeated, a bit short. "You're noble and quick with your words, familiar with court etiquette, and much as it pains me to admit it, you know how to dress. I need an escort who can distract with his words rather than his physical prowess - someone with all his wits about him, so he can't be bewitched."

"Should we ask what this job is about?" Geralt asked from beside her.

"You could, if you wanted," Yennefer said, "but you might prefer if you didn't." 

Geralt sighed, but Jaskier grinned. "Oh, come now," he said, cajoling, "don't you want to fleece some nobles with me, dear witcher? And your lovely lady as well?" He looked up at Yennefer. "If I'm your escort, what is he to be? Our shared _escort_?" He put a twist on the last word that made it clear how pleasing he found the idea of Geralt as hired company for the two of them. Beside her, Geralt choked.

Yennefer laughed. "While that may be something to explore later, no, I think he shall serve best as a bodyguard," she said. "We'll tuck his hair up under a hat and have him keep to the shadows. I don't anticipate any problems, but it's good to have a non-magical exit route, if needed. One never knows what one may encounter."

Geralt sighed. "And your exit route is me fighting my way through a bunch of castle guards?" he said, but he sounded resigned to it.

"Don't be ridiculous," Yennefer said. "I wouldn't make you kill anyone just doing their jobs if I didn't have to. We'll take your hair out of the hat, Jaskier will sing one of his more fearsome songs of your battle prowess, I'll do some basic light shows, and they'll simply let us walk out the door. Far more impressive in the long run." He'd do it for her, of course, she did know that, but she did prefer not to make him go against his nature.

Geralt sighed again, but there was a small smile at the corner of his mouth. "Fine," he said.

"I'll only do it if we can heavily imply our bodyguard guards us very closely in the bedroom," Jaskier said, pouring - was that raisins? - into the pot and chopping some kind of meat into it.

"Now that is a condition I can live with," Yennefer said, letting a wicked grin play across her face. Geralt shifted, just slightly, like he was thinking about pulling her into another kiss.

Because she wasn't fond of denying herself, Yennefer did it for him, lingering. She felt the pulse of desire building, but she wasn't fond of fucking where the bugs could bite her. The idea of an audience almost tipped the scales, but the sun was setting and the midges and mosquitoes were emerging, and she lost control of the kind of small magics needed to keep insects away when she was close to orgasm. "I'll find you both in a week," she said. "Do try to stay in the general area of southern Redania, would you?"

"Yennefer, wait," Jaskier said, just before she could gesture a portal open. She turned to look at him, and he continued, "Won't you join us? With the prospect of a job, this could be a celebratory dinner."

"I doubt you could make anything properly celebratory over a campfire," she said, one eyebrow raised.

"Now, under normal circumstances, you would be quite correct," Jaskier said. "But earlier today, Geralt slew a griffin that had been harassing a farmer, and one of his cows was grievously injured, and he had to slaughter it early. As a gesture of gratitude, he allowed us to pick any cut of meat we desired, and I, of course, chose the tongue."

"Could have picked the liver," Geralt said. He was smiling that small corner-quirked smile at Jaskier too, the same one he pointed at Yennefer, like he felt for them both almost the same thing. What Yennefer felt at that… wasn't quite jealousy.

Jaskier sniffed. "Your injuries were superficial, as we both know, and you have plenty of that horrible liver jerky. We both deserve something nice for once, and now that she's here, so does Yennefer. Clearly, destiny intervened."

Geralt grunted, displeased, but Jaskier wasn't put off. He turned to Yennefer instead. "I know you've spent enough time at court to have tried truly everything, but I learned this from my cook growing up, and it stands up to the finest royal dishes, truly. You won't be disappointed."

He really did want her to enjoy it, Yennefer realized, and covered her discomfiture with a saucy smirk. "Usually, when a man spends so much time telling me his tongue won't disappoint me, I am inevitably disappointed," she purred.

"Oh, truly?" Jaskier said, setting his cooking implements aside and covering the pot. "Then I suppose you haven't had the pleasure of my tongue yet. Would you like to change that?"

Yennefer looked over at Geralt, expecting - perhaps even hoping - for jealousy. Instead, he looked almost… eager. A small flame, lust and curiosity, kindled in her belly. She had heard of Jaskier's exploits. Half of them, at least, were exaggerations, but he must know something of women, for so many to still speak of him fondly. She left Geralt's embrace and met Jaskier halfway, drawing him down into a kiss.

He did know what he was doing, after all, and more importantly, he let her lead, let himself be guided to do exactly as she pleased. That wasn't common in men who were infamous lovers of women, though it should be. The little flame had grown by the time they broke apart, not yet roaring but not far from it either.

"So far, you do not disappoint," she said, and glanced at Geralt, who walked over to join them, hands on her waist as he breathed the smell of her hair in. "Shall we delay dinner a little while longer?"

"It can stew for a little while longer without going tough," Jaskier said, and pulled Geralt in for a kiss over her shoulder, which was a sight Yennefer found deeply pleasing.

It turned out that Jaskier complained of the insects just as much as she did, so they had an ingenious little net to go above their sleeping space to keep the biting bugs out. It meant Yennefer could be as naked as she pleased, and she pleased very much indeed. Halfway through, Jaskier had to stumble out to take dinner off the fire lest it be ruined, and stumbled back in to lend a hand wherever he could.

In the end, the tender tongue, sharp with sugar and vinegar, did indeed stand up to all of Aedirn's court dishes, though that was perhaps because they ate the slices of it greedily, with their hands, and sucked the sauce from each other's fingers before falling back on the bedrolls to fuck again.

In the morning, Yennefer regarded them both, sleeping, as she had risen first. She claimed the dinner leftovers as her due for breakfast, and contemplated waking one or both of them up with kisses and clever hands. But she had things to do before the job she'd hired them for, and so instead she dressed in silence and opened a portal to a place where she could scrub the spend and sweat off her thighs. She'd see them again in a week. There was no need to wake them now.

She did see them again in a week, and things were stilted and strange. The job got done, but Geralt was more stoic than normal, and Jaskier more caustic. She wondered what had happened to that ease at the campsite, and then she got angry, left as soon as she'd thrown gold at them. Whatever ailed them, they could work it out without her.

And then, of course, two months later, there was the mountain.

* * *

After the revelation of Geralt's thrice-cursed wish, Yennefer - didn't quite forget about her brewing attraction to Jaskier so much as it was swallowed up in other matters. She'd almost always seen him with Geralt, anyway, and these days he seemed to be absent from the witcher's side, or so it seemed from the brief glimpses she allowed them to share before turning and vanishing. Geralt respected her space, these days. Yennefer was furious that she was thankful for this small courtesy.

She was furious that she couldn't trust her power, her emotions, any longer. So she let her emotions slip, just a little, not enough to uncork the bottle entirely. Just enough to let a dribble of anger and pettiness and hurt out. Relieve the pressure. It was just her luck that then was when Jaskier and Geralt stumbled across her, and she was a strong enough woman to admit that the whole time was navigated gracefully only because of Jaskier. In the end, watching the two of them, she felt she could trust herself again, and that was a gift beyond price.

So she had to thank Jaskier. And this time, no accidental run-in would do. She had to plan it, down to the last detail. A feast, because he enjoyed spectacle. Fine clothing, because he rarely had a chance to display it to an appreciative audience. A status of guest of honor, so he could perform and dance and eat as he pleased. And of course, after all the food they'd shared, the dishes had to be right.

"Refined enough to not offend, but not so fine so as a coarser palate cannot enjoy it," Yennefer specified to the cook of the castle she had chosen - and gained this time simply virtue of her own reputation as the hero of Sodden Hill. Jaskier would not enjoy something Geralt didn't, after all, and Yennefer planned to goad him into attending as well. She did not intend for her gratitude to be anything less than complete.

"I believe I have just the thing, milady," the cook told her, and brought her deeper into the kitchens, showing her the freshness of their supplies. Yennefer found herself smiling. Yes, this idea would work very well after all.

In the end she didn't have to goad Geralt very hard after all. She simply mentioned that she wished to thank Jaskier and she believed both herself and the bard would be happier with Geralt there, and he agreed. Since the mountain, he had been more careful of both of their feelings, and Yennefer was not above taking advantage of it. Besides, what was so horrible about a night of drinking and dancing when one did not have to bow and scrape to anyone in the process?

Geralt didn't seem to agree, but he sat gamely through the first courses, and sat up when Yennefer escorted their main course to them, floating it behind her.

"I chose this dish for you, and so it seemed fitting I give it to you, as well," she said, setting the tray between them. It was deer heart, stuffed with apples, nuts, and grain. Jaskier pressed a hand to his mouth, eyes shining, as she put it on his plate with her own two hands. 

"I am… grateful to you," she said quietly. "And I wished to express it with something more than words."

Jaskier clasped her hand in both of his, smiling, and swallowed deeply. She had not expected him to be so deeply affected. "My dear lady Yennefer," he said. "You certainly have. Come, won't you sit with us? Surely your patron can be left alone for one course."

She did, of course, sit with them, and Jaskier kept the conversation light and flowing as they ate, touching her and Geralt in turn as he spoke, smiling. After the main course Yennefer was obliged to return to their host, but as soon as the dessert wines had been taken away, Jaskier was on his feet. At first, Yennefer thought he wished to play, but instead, he claimed a first dance with her, by virtue of being the guest of honor. 

"I thought we'd never get a chance to speak," he said, bowing over her hand and stepping into the opening sequence with her.

"What, without Geralt?" Yennefer asked, raising her brows. Likely the witcher couldn't hear them over the hubbub, but it wasn't what she'd expected.

Jaskier shook his head. "No, no," he said, spinning around. "Without the listening court vultures ready to decimate any of our reputations."

Yennefer spun in turn and took his hand again. "I know it's a minor court, but surely they won't be scandalized by something as humdrum as sex, even with a witcher and a sorceress involved," she said, tilting her head to the side.

Jaskier snorted. "Playing dumb does not become you, Yennefer," he said, but there was a fond smile twisting his mouth. "I'm talking about the most romantic declaration I have ever received - and do you know how many artists I've bedded? Romance is our stock in trade, especially the kind that involves large gestures. And you, my dear, have single-handedly swept them all out of the water."

Yennefer frowned. "It was a gesture, certainly, but one to express how grateful I am, for your help sorting out the tangled mess with Geralt and I and the wish."

"Yennefer," Jaskier said, pulling her close to him for the final whirling steps, "you served us a heart - your heart, since you had the choosing of it - with your own hands." He looked down at his feet for a moment, more to catch his breath than from any actual unsurety with the footwork, then back up at her. "Did you mean it?"

Involuntarily, she looked over at Geralt, watching them from a corner, but with a gleam of - something in his eye. In her chest, her own heart thumped involuntarily. She looked back at Jaskier, holding her hand with courtly grace as the dance ended, and found that she did. "Yes," she murmured, for his ears alone.

Jaskier favored her with a glittering, gleeful smile. "I thought so," he said. "Now, do you think I can get away with pulling Geralt onto the dance floor to explain all of this to him, or shall I wait until we're done for the night? Only it seems terribly cruel to leave him in suspense for the evening."

"Get away with it on the part of Geralt or our host?" Yennefer asked. "One may be easier than the other."

Jaskier escorted her off the dance floor as the next number started, handing her a goblet of the same rich red he favored. "Now that we're working together, my dear lady Yennefer, I believe we can divide and conquer. You handle our host, I'll handle Geralt."

"For now," Yennefer agreed, smiling at him.

"Oh, we shall both be handling Geralt later, I expect," Jaskier said, and Yennefer laughed as Geralt's head snapped up towards the both of them. Yennefer favored him with a slow, sultry smile and made her way back to their host, her heart light in her chest. But perhaps that was because there were two sets of hands bearing its weight now.

**Author's Note:**

> The pork shanks recipe is schweinehaxen, a German dish (listen this is _fantasy_ eastern europe I can pull that shit from wherever I like), recipe translated for me by a gracious friend. (It can be served with potato dumplings instead of sauerkraut but y'all I've had to write too many essays on the Columbian exchange, even if potatoes are game canon.) Two types of pate are actually canon in Witcher 3, according to my wiki diving, so I just added some more, because there's a bunch. The beef tongue recipe is a Russian interpretation of a Jewish one apparently translated from Old Slavonic. I can't actually verify this, but the spice profile is definitely consistent with medieval cookery. The stuffed heart is just nicely symbolic and something I like to eat.
> 
> As you may have noticed, there's another meal elided in between the tongue and the heart! This is partially for tonal reasons and partially because it's certainly not training wheels offal. When it's finished, it'll be posted as another fic in this same series.


End file.
